One Tortuga Night
by Blood Trillium
Summary: Shortly before the movie, Jack's trying to get to Port Royal. He has a proposition for Anamaria. Will she help him out? JackAnamaria.


Title: One Tortuga Night  
  
Author: Trillium  
  
Rating: R for language and sexuality  
  
Pairing: Jack/Anamaria  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own POTC, of course. Though, like so many of us, I sure wish I owned Jack.  
  
A big thank you to my beta reader, Guesswho. Hope you enjoy the story.  
  
It is only an hour since the sun sank red below the distant horizon, but already the main street of Tortuga is filled with shouting, babbling half-drunk revelers. There are two large ships in port tonight, and several smaller ones, and business for the island's various establishments will be good. Sailors laugh, argue, and sing raucously, bottles and mugs clink, drink splashes, whores swish their skirts at whoever looks most able to pay. A rough place, to be sure, but for me, it's home.  
  
I am striding down the middle of the dirt street, on the way back to my house, when a man steps suddenly out of the shadows to my left and crashes into me, knocking me down before I can react. I grunt as I sprawl hard on the ground, then look up at my assailant, an insult quick on my lips.  
  
"Poxed son of a whore-"  
  
"Terribly sorry," the man says hurriedly, gesturing aimlessly. The mannerism is quite distinctive, and I recognize it immediately. Jack Sparrow: pirate, rum-head, womanizer, all-around rogue, and, in the opinion of many, complete lunatic. He's a frequenter of Tortuga's docks and taverns, and I've met him before, though it's been a while since I've seen him. He backs up a couple of steps as I haul myself to my feet and peers at me curiously in the yellow candlelight leaking from the nearest windows.  
  
"Are ye blind, runnin' into me like that?" I grumble as I brush dirt from my clothes, watching him out of the corner of my eye. Thick black hair spills from under his battered tricorne hat, and dark kohl-lined eyes seem to reflect some inner amusement. "Only a little, darlin'," he smiles, apparently an attempt to placate me, but I'm not in the mood for that. His gaze sweeps over me, lingering on my chest. "It's the lovely Anamaria, isn't it? Last time I was docked here I beat ye at dice. Twice," he adds, holding up two fingers significantly. Sourly, I wonder if that statement was calculated to annoy me as much as possible. I give him a tart answer.  
  
"There was debate about the outcome of that game, Sparrow."  
  
He gives another graceful, meaningless flourish of his hands. "Captain Sparrow, luv, please."  
  
"So ye've got a ship now...again?" I ask, curious in spite of myself. Jack's story is well known around here. Years ago his former crew mutinied and marooned him, but somehow he escaped and went on to become, almost single-handedly, one of the Caribbean's more infamous pirates. However, he's never given up hope of getting his old ship, the Black Pearl, back. Most others would agree that, after almost ten years, the quest is more or less hopeless, but Jack is completely irrepressible.  
  
"No, not at the moment, luv. The Lucky Mermaid's rotted on the bottom with both masts broken- not worth fixing, savvy?" he rolls his eyes, then winks at me devilishly. "So I'm in the market, y'might say."  
  
"Ah, I see. Well...good luck," I wish him, unsure what to say. He's a pirate, after all. He more than likely intends to steal a ship at the first opportunity, a fate I don't wish on anyone. My little fishing boat may not be too impressive, bu t losing her would be- well, like losing a part of myself, really. I start to turn away, but Jack loops his arm through mine.  
  
"Why don't we splice the mainbrace a little, lass? I'm in need of some good company."  
  
I think about it. Jack's a rascal, to be sure, but I must admit I like him, and I'm not doing anything else particular right now. After a moment's hesitation, I agree, reassuring myself that I won't stay long.  
  
"All right, Sparrow. If ye're buying, that is."  
  
Jack grins, showing me a mouthful of gold teeth, and covers my hand on his arm with his other hand. "Aye aye, luv. I hope ye like rum."  
  
Inside the crowded tavern, Jack buys us a bottle of rum and we find ourselves a corner table. He deferentially pulls out my chair for me, but lets his fingers slide across my shoulders as I sit down. It's a nice feeling, in a way, but I shrug him off irritably and lounge with my feet outstretched. Jack kicks the opposite chair around and sits in it backwards, takes a swallow of the rum, then pushes the bottle towards me, draping his arms over the chair back.  
  
"So what have ye been doin' with yerself, lass?" he asks, setting his shabby hat on the table. Besides being sometimes obnoxious, he's damned good-looking, I think. It seems slightly unfair that a man should have such shapely, delicate cheekbones and long, lush eyelashes. His hair is more- well- elaborate than when I last saw him, a haphazard mixture of braids, dreadlocks, loose hair, and strands of beads, the whole glorious mess held off his face by a worn red scarf. His beard, most surprisingly, is done in two braids, a style that would look quite ridiculous on anyone else, but he wears it well, somehow. I take a sip of the rum, then answer him.  
  
"Fishin', of course. What else?"  
  
"And how is the fishin', luv?" Jack favors me with another dashing grin. He can melt hearts with that face, including, damn it, mine. I shrug noncommittally.  
  
"Hmm, not bad. Been better, been worse."  
  
Jack nods knowingly and takes a pull from the bottle. Then he leans toward me conspiratorially. "D'ye ever get tired of fishin'?"  
  
I'm not sure how to answer- I'm getting the idea that Jack must want something of me, but what it is, I don't know. I settle for another uncommunicative shrug.  
  
"Cause if ye do, I've got a proposition for ye," he pushes the rum toward me and I warily accept a swallow.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Well, I told ye what happened to the Mermaid, and with her scuttled, as it were, me crew have all scarpered off, too, so I'm on me own for now. But I've a mind to get me a new ship, savvy? A better one. So where can I find a better ship?"  
  
"Where?" I ask cautiously. I'm not sure I like where this is going.  
  
"Who's got the best ships in the Caribbean, luv?" he asks, sweeping his arms out in an extravagant gesture. "His Majesty's Royal Navy, that's who."  
  
My eyes widen in shock. "Ye mean to steal a Navy ship all by yerself?" It's audacious, impossible, even for the renowned Jack Sparrow.  
  
"Commandeer, luv, commandeer a ship. I mean to go down to Port Royal, where there's plenty of choice, savvy? But not quite by me onesies, lass," Jack slides a booted foot forward and rubs it lightly against my ankle. "We'll take yer boat, and I'll make ye first mate of whatever beauty we sail away. Do we have an accord?" He thrusts his hand toward me, dirty, calloused, and sporting a ring with a large green stone. I don't touch it; I just look at Jack through narrowed eyes.  
  
"Sparrow, for one thing, the boat sprung a slow leak while I was out this afternoon. Unless I fix her first, which could take a while, she'll never make it even halfway. And for the other thing, even with two of us, it would be impossible. And I rather like my neck the way it is. I'm not goin' with ye."  
  
"Aye, I like yer neck too, since ye mention it," Jack grins and touches my neck and cheek lightly. I brush his hand away. "But we'd figure somethin' out. I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," he states decisively, as if this explains everything.  
  
I sigh. Such confidence and energy, so badly misplaced. "No," I repeat flatly. "Ye're daft."  
  
"Luv, I think we could do it," the slightest note of pleading creeps into his voice. He takes a quick drink of the rum, then takes my hand in his. I don't resist this time. The warmth does feel very nice.  
  
"Not afraid of havin' a woman on board?" I joke.  
  
"Not at all, darlin'," he answers cheekily. The beads in his hair clink together as he leans towards me. I let our faces get about six inches apart, then abruptly pick up the bottle, lean back into my chair, and take a swig. I am flirting a little, but for good or bad, Jack does bring out that tendency out in me. He takes the rum back and drinks, eyeing me with amusement.  
  
A sudden outburst of noise diverts my attention. I turn to see a group of musicians beginning to tune their instruments nearby. I watch as some of the tables are dragged aside to clear a dancing space. A candle falls to the floor, and a serving woman dashes to put it out, accompanied by a sprinkling of chuckles from the patrons. She stamps out the small flame and, disaster successfully averted, swears inventively at the loudest laugher, a big, red-faced man with a thick blond beard. Meanwhile, the musicians have struck up a lively tune, catchy enough to make me tap my feet in a matching rhythm. A few revelers drag their partners, willing or unwilling, into the cleared space.  
  
Jack springs to his feet, still holding the bottle. "If ye won't sail with me, luv, the least ye can do is give me a dance," and he unceremoniously pulls me to my feet. I consider resisting, but the fact is I do like to dance, and I tell myself it's not late yet. When we reach the cleared space Jack immediately begins to swing us around in wild circles. I can barely keep up with him, especially while dodging tables, chairs, and other people, but surprisingly I find myself laughing at his antics- until Jack turns his head suddenly and his heavy locks slap into the side of my face.  
  
"Damn you, Sparrow," I exclaim, looking away from him and rubbing the stinging spot. I'm about to storm off the dance floor when Jack slips a soothing arm around my shoulders.  
  
"So sorry, luv," he apologizes, and plants a warm kiss on my cheek. It sends a bolt of unexpected excitement through me, fluttering down to my stomach. Anger drains away, and I decide that maybe it would be fun to stay and dance some more. Jack guides me back into the square, and we continue for a few more songs, accompanied by much laughter and rum- sipping. The sprightly music gets into my blood, combining with the alcohol to produce an energetic, pleasantly disoriented state. Jack whirls us around, sometimes apparently oblivious to me, sometimes pulling me in close, laughing and teasing.  
  
Finally the musicians take a break, despite shouts for them to continue, and we make our way back to our table, tired and dizzy and happy. Jack checks hurriedly to see that his beloved hat is still accounted for, but I can't quite think straight. The room seems to be whirling around me, worse than a storm at sea. I put out my hand for my chair, contact Jack's shoulder instead, and before I can stop myself I have flopped right into his lap. Closing my eyes against the spinning sensation I rest my forehead on his shoulder, grateful for something solid to lean on, reflecting that the rum must be getting to me a little.  
  
"I rather like this position, luv," he says, gently pulling me a little closer. I can sense the little smirk in his voice, but I find I can't summon a sharp comment, and besides, his hands feel marvelous on my waist and thighs. After a moment , when I feel better, I raise my head.  
  
"Y'could try askin' Joshamee Gibbs," I suggest, trying to get back to the subject of Jack's planned expedition, though I make no move to stand up. He looks at me questoningly, and I elaborate. "To go to Port Royal with, I mean. He might be up for it. He's a good sailor, and he's not doin' much these days beyond keepin' pigs."  
  
"Oh, aye, Gibbs," Jack rubs his chin thoughtfully, then seems to reject that thought. "Yer company is infinitely preferable, luv. Nothin' I can do to change yer mind?" his hands glide smoothly up and down my back. Idly I examine a colorful strand of beads haning over the top of his headscarf.  
  
"No, Sparrow. I'm stayin' out of this one."  
  
"Yer loss," Jack shrugs and reaches for the rum, when suddenly his stomach growls, loudly and distinctly.  
  
"When was the last time ye ate?" I demand.  
  
He gestures vaguely toward our almost-empty bottle. "Well-"  
  
"Food, not drink. When?"  
  
He thinks a moment. "This morning, I think," he looks at me sheepishly, like a little boy being chastised for some wrongdoing. I shake my head in exasperation.  
  
"Come on, then. I'll find ye somethin'."  
  
"Ye're too kind, darlin'." With some reluctance I get up from his lap, and he tucks an arm around my shoulders.  
  
We leave the tavern district and make our way out toward the houses of the fishermen to the west. The moon is bright, and a light breeze ruffles the dark water and swishes in the palms above the tideline. The docked ships and boats creak and sway slightly at their moorings. It's a fine night. Jack keeps his arm firmly around me, perhaps for his own support, or perhaps not; it's always hard to tell exactly how drunk- or not- he is. He regales me with tales of his latest adventures as we walk, punctuated by flamboyant flourishes of his free hand.  
  
"So then he says to me 'Father, what penance should I do?' And I told him that givin' all his gold to poor sailors'd be an excellent start, savvy? But y'know, it's remarkable what happened next, 'cause right behind- " he breaks off his account as we approach my house, turning his attention to my boat tied up at the dock. Letting go of me, he walks toward it with quick, eager steps. He's sizing it up, I can tell.  
  
"Yer sure she's not seaworthy, luv?" he asks me curiously. I follow him onto the dock and crouch by the boat. A couple inches of water sit in the bottom, not much, considering, but enough to indicate a problem. I take a token scoop with the bailing bucket, but there's not enough water to be worth the effort. Yet.  
  
"Well, she'll be fine here for the rest of the night, but she's not up for a voyage. In the mornin' I'll haul her up to the beach and see what's wrong."  
  
"She doesn't just need caulkin'?" Jack squats beside me to examine the hull, but from our position, and in the moonlight, it's impossible to see anything useful. I stand up and give Jack a warning look.  
  
"I'll decide that, Sparrow. And I'm not goin' with ye, remember?"  
  
He backs up, smiling innocently and holding out his arms as if to ward me off. "Aye, aye, darlin'. Y'know yer business...now didn't ye say somethin' about food?"  
  
I hesitate. To tell the truth I am considering just telling him to leave. His intense interest in the state of my boat worries me, and I am reminded that beneath the veneer of silly foppishness Jack is devious by nature and very intelligent. Can he be thinking of...I decide I'm being paranoid. It just wouldn't be possible to sail it all the way to Jamaica without some major repairs. Even Jack wouldn't try it...would he? And if he would, then maybe it's better to have him where I can keep an eye on him. Inside the house, for instance. Slowly I nod my assent. "Aye, I did. Come inside."  
  
Up the short path from the beach stands a one-room thatched-roof wooden house, shaded by three palm trees. It's just mine now, since my parents were killed in a storm, my sister married a tavern-keeper from Hispaniola, and my brother, who never was very bright, had the misfortune to be pressed by the navy. Jack follows me in, laying down his hat, coat, and "effects", as he calls them, and I toss him a banana to start on while I open my cupboard. I take out smoked meat, rice left over from this morning, and a couple of mangoes, set the whole lot down on the table, and sit across from Jack. His dark eyes widen in appreciation, and he tucks in without a word. I eat a little, more to keep him company than anything else; I'm not that hungry. Finally satisfied, he pushes the plate of peelings and scraps away.  
  
"Truly, luv, ye're a paragon of virtue," he sighs contentedly.  
  
"Virtue?" I sniff. "Ye're a fine one to talk about virtue, pirate."  
  
"Aye, that I am," he admits, then suddenly he slaps the table with both hands, grinning childishly. "I've a good feelin' about this trip to Port Royal, fer some reason. It's yer last chance to share the glory." He raises his eyebrows invitingly, but I'm not changing my mind.  
  
"What glory? I told ye no," I rise and clear the table, pointedly turning my back to him.  
  
"By me onesies it is, then," he sighs. I glance over my shoulder as I put the dishes in the basin. He is cleaning his fingernails with his knifepoint, his feet nonchalantly propped on the table, not looking at me. Satisfied, I quickly wash the dishes, then open a wooden chest along the wall.  
  
"If y'need a place to stay, I've got an extra hammock in here somewhere," I mutter, rooting through discarded clothing and other oddments that once belonged to my parents and siblings.  
  
"I thought I'd just share yers, savvy?" Jack's voice suddenly whispers suggestively in my ear. I jump. I had thought he was still sitting at the table. His warm breath and scratchy moustache and beard send a pleasant tingle all the way down to my hips.  
  
"Don't sneak up on me like that," I snap, but then, unthinking, I turn around and capture his lips in a kiss. His hair is rough under my fingers, his tongue is soft and skillful, he tastes like ripe mango, the last thing he ate, and he smells like rum and salt. Very, very, nice. I sigh and relax into him, deepening the kiss, loving the full length of his lean body against mine, even as I silently curse him for being able to affect me like this so effortlessly. A soft sound of longing escapes me, and I try to put my hands underneath his shirt, but my task is obstructed by numerous pieces of clothing- vest, belt, and a voluminous sash that looks like nothing so much as a ripped bedsheet tied around his waist. I can't help but laugh.  
  
"What's so funny, then?" Jack has such a charming mock-offended expression.  
  
"You, for sure, Sparrow. Ye dress like...like....like yerself," I throw up my hands, unable to explain it any better than that. Jack laughs too, and pulls me in for another melting kiss.  
  
"Here, let me help ye, lass," he offers, and together we undo his belt buckle and the knots of his sash, then start on my clothes. His hands move silkily over the contours of my body as we undress, and the gaze of his dark eyes is almost like a palpable sensation in itself. Oh, how inviting he looks, and how much I want him, exasperating and obnoxious though he can be.  
  
Rather ridiculously, Jack begins to hum to himself as we make our way over to where my hammock swings placidly in a corner. He pushes me gently into it and begins to work his way down my body, kissing and sucking between soft snatches of song.  
  
"What shall we do with a drunken sailor?" his tongue circles one nipple. "Put him in bed with the captain's daughter," he turns his attentions to the other. Completely crazy, very typical of Jack. I laugh softly and caress the firm muscles of his arms and shoulders. He moves downward, leaving a trail of kisses across my stomach. Oh, this is nice, I think, sliding my legs along his. He sits up a little and pushes my legs apart, still humming idly to himself. I'm quite certain I know what's coming next- not that I mind in the slightest- but I'm wrong. Jack lowers his head and gives me a long lick right between my legs, in my most sensitive place.  
  
Oh, my good Lord. No man has ever done that to me before! I gasp, my eyes widen, and I try to sit up. Jack laughs and pushes me back down.  
  
"Like that, luv?" he asks saucily, his mouth about an inch from my skin. His breath is so warm, and his beard scratches me, but pleasantly.  
  
"Oh, aye," I manage to answer as my head falls back to the hammock. Jack obligingly does it again. My God, that feels exquisite. My hands are tangled in Jack's hair, and I arch my hips toward him so hard that my thigh muscles start to cramp, but I don't particularly care. He continues until I come off, by which time I'm rolling my head from side to side and making soft, desperate sounds that I'm not sure are really coming from me. It's amazing. I've never felt anything like it. The sensation lingers long after he stops; my insides feel like melted butter as I lie limp and satisfied.  
  
I open my eyes to see Jack grinning as he lies curled against me. He looks damned pleased with himself, as well he should be, I suppose. I half sit up so that I'm looking down on him.  
  
"Sparrow..." I begin, not sure what I mean to say.  
  
"Kiss me, darlin'," he sticks out his tongue comically.  
  
"Oh, all right. If ye insist," I laugh. His body feels so good under mine, wiry and strong. I suck on his neck and earlobes, well- rewarded by his soft moans. Insistently he pulls my hips up over his.  
  
"This what ye want, then?" I tease, moving a little away.  
  
"Looks like ye want it, lass," he answers, but his voice is thick with lust. He guides me back into position and I sink down on him. I start to rock my hips, getting a wicked enjoyment out of watching his usual insouciant expression fade away. His head falls back, his eyes close, his breath quickens and catches, bliss takes over. Absolutely beautiful, I think. There's no other word for it, though I'd never admit it to him. His calloused hands caress my bottom, sending ripples of pleasure through me, then grip me tighter as he approaches his release. When it comes he arches, up, gasps, and whispers a word I don't quite catch. I rock my hips a few more times, gently, and lie beside him, running my fingers over his body, enraptured. He opens his eyes slowly, as though waking from a restful sleep.  
  
"Oh, darlin," he says softly, touching my cheek lightly. Then he smiles and the old, cocksure Jack Sparrow is back. "One thing I should tell ye."  
  
"What's that?" I say warily.  
  
"About that dice game, luv."  
  
"Aye?" I can't imagine why he would bring that up now.  
  
"I won," he smirks annoyingly at me. I sit up, filled with an sudden, incredible urge to slap his grinning face. I raise my hand threateningly, but something makes me stop. It doesn't seem right, somehow, not at this moment at least. So instead I settle for lying back down with an exasperated sigh.  
  
"Jack Sparrow, ye'll get yerself killed someday. I almost wish I could be there to see it."  
  
"Ah, ye forget one thing, luv," he answers, throwing an arm and a leg over me and resting his forehead on my shoulder.  
  
"What would that be?"  
  
"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," he states definitively, and kisses me on the cheek. I sigh again and pull the light blanket over us, relaxing back into Jack's warm, strong arms. The ever-present surf sounds come in through the window, and the gently swinging hammock holds us in an embrace like that of the sea herself.  
  
I wake to sunlight warm and golden on my face. My first realization is that I've slept later than I intended to; my second, that I'm alone in the hammock. Puzzled, I sit up and look around. Jack is nowhere in sight, and his things are gone from the table and the floor where he left them. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised; knowing Jack, what else did I expect? Still, I can't help but feel a creeping sense of disappointment. Damn him, why did he have to sneak out without a single word? Sternly, I put that thought aside. I have plenty of work to do today, and lovestruck pining never profited anyone. I dress, eat a quick breakfast, and go out into the mid-morning sunshine.  
  
It is indeed a beautiful day. The sun sails overhead, drifting in and out of puffy white clouds. A cool breeze is blowing from the sea, cutting through the heat of the day. Near the other fishermen's houses, women cook over their firepits, children scamper on their errands, and two old men sit in the shade of a wall mending nets. But I see almost none of this. I have eyes only for the dock before my house.  
  
In the place where my boat should be safely tied there is nothing but lapping waves and a fragment of worn rope blowing in the breeze. Anger rises bitter in my throat, my face is on fire, and my hands clench into furious fists at my sides. But there is nothing I can do. It is gone. God-damned bilge-sucking whoreson scum, I think. The bastard stole my boat. 


End file.
